


Blood and Bullets

by theredhoodie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Pre-smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:57:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhoodie/pseuds/theredhoodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU S1. There is only one reason why Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale would be locked in a closet together...the fates are getting off on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Bullets

**Author's Note:**

> Got a random idea of this summary today and just…ran with it.

There was only one reason why Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale would be locked in a closet together...the fates were getting off on it.

The good thing was that it was a big closet. Okay, it wasn't _that_ big, but at least they weren't all up in each others business. "You seriously fail right now," Stiles jabbed a finger over at Derek, who was slumping glumly, using a mop to lean on. Right so they _might_ be locked in a janitor's closet at Beacon Hills High. "You can't even bust down a door."

Derek sent a seething glare across the small place. "I'd like to see you try to survive a whole clip to the chest," he growled.

Oh right. There was that whole thing with the hunters chasing them with guns and Derek taking the heat, literally, for Stiles who would have been dead on the floor by now and used for solder in the Argents' gun safe. Stiles had to practically drag an almost dead Beta to the nearest room with a door...which just happened to be the janitor's closet. And that closet just so happened to lock from the outside and Derek was still healing and about as strong as a newborn puppy.

"Do you think they'll leave?" Stiles asked, glancing at the door and nervously rubbing his neck. He had somehow lost his phone amid the running and Derek had been using Stiles' all night because his was broken.

Derek huffed and slid to the floor, knocking over a few spray bottles. "They weren't expecting you to be with me."

Stiles waiting for more of an answer, but got none. He crouched down. "Is that a yes that they will leave us alone, or a 'oh, he's just a human kid so they'll stick around and knock down the door in a minute and shoot us both'?"

The werewolf heaved a breath and met Stiles' eyes. "They'll leave," he growled out.

Stiles let out a breath of relief and sank back against a trash bin, folding his legs and noticing the blood on his shirt. And his hands. And his arm from where he had grabbed Derek so he wouldn't fall. "Gross," he muttered, frowning down at the red. "Dude, did you have to bleed all over me?"

Derek didn't say anything. The bullets weren't anything special…silver, not laced with wolfsbane, thankfully or he really would be dead right now. But he hadn't been hit with so much silver at once before and he wasn't healing the way he should. He watched Stiles start to scramble around the small space to find something to wash the blood off his hands and Derek made up his mind. "Don't bother," he said, tightening his jaw as he moved the only healed part of his torso, his left arm, to the hem of his shirt and pulled it off.

"Whoa, whoa, what—what're you doing?" Stiles squeaked. He couldn't help it, his eyes were drawn to all the blood which was…everywhere. He counted eight wounds on Derek's chest and abdomen and one in his right bicep.

"They're not healing," Derek said in an aggravated tone.

"I can see that." Stiles bit down on his tongue, mind rolling through the severity of the situation. "Wait…wait no." He tried backing up, scurrying away, _anything_ , but there was no place to go and Derek grabbed a fistful of his shirt with his good hand and brought their faces close.

"You won't leave this room alive if you don't help me," Derek said through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, sure," Stiles said nervously, bobbing his head up and down in agreement. "Totally yeah, just what I always wanted to do. Dig bullets out of some guy's chest. Awesome."

Derek shoved him away. He furrowed his eyebrows and grew out his claws on his left hand. "See if you can find something to use if you don't want to use your fingers," he told Stiles, leaning his chin against his collarbone and digging into his right arm with his claws.

Stiles watched, wide-eyed and looking like he was going to pass out or upchuck, as Derek dragged out the bullet and the wound began to heal. His claws sank back to normal fingers and Stiles swallowed.

"I…I don't think I can do that," he stammered, voice squeaking.

The look in Derek's eyes wasn't even remotely threatening. Stiles was reminded of the last time he had seen that look…they had just gotten to the animal clinic and Derek was worse for wear, saying he was going to die if Scott didn't get there in time. But this time…there was no Scott to save the day, it was Stiles.

"I don't have claws," Stiles said quietly, eyeing one of the open wounds. His stomach turned.

Derek's eyes slipped closed. "I can't shift," he huffed.

"I can't do this," Stiles repeated. There was blood everywhere, red and thick, coating Derek's body, splatters of crimson across his jaw.

"Stiles…" Derek grabbed Stiles' wrist and pulled shaking fingers toward him. "I'm going to die…right here in a fucking janitor's closet, if you don't help me."

"I…" Stiles stuck his tongue between his lips. He furrowed his eyebrows, eyes catching a glint of something metallic close to the surface of the wound nearest his fingers. He didn't even feel Derek's hand fall from his wrist. He was just trying to keep from throwing up. Sucking in a breath through his nose, he squinted, not wanting to have to watch, but he couldn't very well blindly stick his fingers into gaping bulletholes in someone's chest. He swallowed down bile as his fingers pushed through warm flesh. He was going to throw up or pass out or something and was still holding his breath. But then he felt the metal he was looking for and tried to ignore the gush of fresh blood that followed his fingers when he pulled out the bullet.

"Oh my _God_ ," he exclaimed, pushing himself as far away as possible and dry heaving behind the trash bin.

Two down…seven more. Derek was going to start rethinking his idea to drag Stiles around with him while he was trying to figure out who the Alpha was. Only…Stiles had good connections that could do nothing but help him, so Derek was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Only the rock had a hand gun and the hard place was a janitor's closet.

"Stiles." He forced his eyes open long enough to see Stiles wipe his mouth with his hand and smear blood across his cheek.

"I can't do that again," Stiles choked out. He blinked through blurry vision to find Derek, eyes closed, slumped against the wall and not looking good at all. "Fuck," he muttered, crawling over and eyeing the now closed bullet wound. He had done that…Stiles…he could help. Sure…it was seriously gross and he never wanted to see blood again in his life but…he was actually helping someone who looked close to dying. "Derek," he said, all power gone from his voice. He was putting all he had into holding onto his dinner.

Derek sort of breathed out his name and Stiles tried to tell himself that it didn't sound nice.

"How many of these do I have to dig out before you can heal?"

Derek held up two bloody fingers.

"Great," Stiles nodded. There was nothing in this closet that could help him, unless…"Dude…can I use like…pliers?"

Derek didn't answer.

Stiles scrambled to his feet, standing in front of the shelf halfway up the wall, where a tool kit sat. He popped it open and rustled around. And he found the most glorious tool he had ever laid eyes upon. Gripping the blue handles, he knelt down next to Derek, thought about washing off the tip of the needle-nose pliers but realizing that Derek was a werewolf, he would be fine. "This is gunna be fine," he started talking to himself. "Totally fine. No fingers going through bleeding flesh. This is good." He lowered the pliers over one of the wounds. "Ready?"

Stiles took the nails digging into his ankle as a yes. As carefully as he could, and looking away every so often so he didn't barf, he clamped the end of the pliers around one of the bullets and yanked it out. His breath caught as the wound closed slowly, smoothing out the skin around Derek's navel.

At least Stiles didn't dry heave that time. Derek became more alert and he winced and growled when Stiles pulled out a third bullet before dropping the bloody pliers and sliding back over the floor two feet to the trash bin.

"There, two. You do the rest yourself," Stiles said, hands shaking. One of his knees was completely soaked in blood through his jeans and his hands were red. Even he could smell the blood in the air. It was sickening.

Derek could feel each remaining bullet burning against his skin, but he managed to plant his back against the wall more securely and grabbed the pliers because it would take too much energy to shift. He bit through his lip pulling out the one close to his heart and he could feel Stiles' disgust mixed with a little bit of anguish, along with the constant scent of arousal that always seemed to follow the kid around when they were forced to work together.

Stiles was chewing on the only non-bloody part of his cuff as Derek pulled out the last of the bullets. His arm fell like dead weight as a wave of power rippled through him now that the silver was gone. The air was thick with the scent of his own blood and it would take a minute or two until he could break down the door. Derek rested his head back against the wall.

"That's it? Are you…are you okay now?" Stiles asked, looking at him with wide eyes as if he expected Derek to start convulsing and die right in front of him.

Derek nodded, a feeling of warmth settling upon him as the wounds healed. He picked up the tattered remains of his shirt from beside him and attempted to wipe away the blood covering his skin, but it didn't help very much. He could feel the power returning to him, seeping back into his numb limbs and giving them life. He concentrated on his hands and watched them shift.

"Stiles," he said slowly, opening his eyes.

Derek's face was hidden half in shadow, which was both creepy and weird as well as having the effect of sending jolts of _something_ through Stiles' body. He could see the glint of Derek's eyes in the darkness. "What?" He couldn't help noticing Derek was healed, back to looking perfect with all the abs and pecks and arms if you looked through all the blood.

"Come here."

Stiles gulped. He didn't know why he didn't just stay where he was and start babbling. That would have been the smart thing to do. What he did, however, was shuffle forward on his hands and knees, eyeing Derek's fingers. It instantly made his ankle throb, since Derek had sunk his claws into his skin amid the pulling-out-of-bullets. "What? You're uh…you're healed so what's—"

"You have blood on your face," Derek said, voice a low rumble.

"There's blood everywhere," Stiles pointed out, ready to go on a spiel, but then Derek cupped his jaw with a clawed hand and he froze. "Holy god," was all he got out before Derek leaned forward and crushed his lips. Stiles' eyes flew open and then squeezed closed. His heart pounded out a heavy rhythm against his ribcage. His hand reached out to grab a hold of something, but only slid through the sheen of blood covering Derek's abs.

"Whoa," he gasped out the next second. This should not be turning him on. Sitting in a janitor's closet in a pile of blood, kissing a werewolf covered in blood…this was some freakishly realistic fantasy or something. Fantasy? Stiles heard the low rumble in Derek's chest. He should have said 'You can totally break down the door now, can't you?' but instead, Stiles was slipping his hands around Derek's face and initiating the next kiss.

Derek's claws faded as his tongue grazed Stiles' lips. Stiles moaned into his mouth and the wolf in Derek tried to claw its way to the surface. Tongues wrestled for dominance. Derek hooked a hand behind Stiles' neck and pulled him toward him, his bare back hitting the cold wall and Stiles fell half on him, his very obvious boner pressed against Derek's thigh and his shirt sticking against the blood on Derek's chest. Stiles broke for a breath. Derek dragged human nails down Stiles' bloody shirt. "This should be so gross," Stiles pointed out, before thinking better of it and attacking Derek's mouth. Derek's fingers slipped between Stiles' hot skin and the fly of his jeans. Stiles bit Derek's lip.

They both tasted blood.


End file.
